"I did not expect thee," said Mr. Cromwell, smiling.
His visitor passed him and, throwing himself into the great chair fitted with worn leather cushions near the yet unshuttered window, stared at his friend with such a visible disturbance in his usually composed and bold features that Mr. Cromwell was surprised into an exclamation—
"What news is there?"
A grim smile stirred John Pym's pale lips.
"Where hast thou been all this day that thou hast not heard?"
"Here, since midday, and never a breath of news could reach me if some friend did not bring it."
John Pym put his hand to his forehead; he looked old and ill and more utterly overmastered by emotion than his colleague had ever before seen him.
"Evil news, Mr. Pym?" and the energetic Puritan's mind flew to that centre of mischief, the King and Queen in Scotland.
"Evil news," repeated the older man sombrely, "news that hath set London in a frenzy. They are running mad in the streets now—news that will make some swift conclusion here inevitable."
A light that was perhaps as much of pleasurable anticipation and satisfaction as of regret or anger brightened Mr. Cromwell's eyes as he answered—